


maybe next time

by Arya_Silvertongue



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Canon Backstory, Five Times Rodney & John Almost Met, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25440706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Silvertongue/pseuds/Arya_Silvertongue
Summary: Unbeknownst to the two of them, there had been five times when Rodney and John almost met.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 5
Kudos: 49





	maybe next time

_Major, think about where we are in the solar system._

i.

John’s suit jacket was starting to itch.

Across from him, Davey was also trying his best not to fidget, and it took all of John’s self-control not to stick his tongue out and make his little brother even more uncomfortable. He was sitting next to dad, after all.

“It’s just for a couple of hours. The venue is not even that far from the hotel.”

Next to Davey, John’s mom fiddled with her necklace, her eyes darting between dad and the envelopes in her other hand.

“They already gave us the tickets," she added. "It would be a shame to let them go to waste.”

John didn’t need to look up to know what kind of face his father was no doubt making.

“This is a business trip, Caroline. Not a vacation. We don’t have time for silly parties.”

It was only because John was staring that he caught the way mom flinched.

“It is not a silly party,” she replied, voice tight. “It’s a benefit concert for one of the charities you _claim_ to support. Come on, Patrick. At least let me and the kids go. They’d love it. They’re featuring Canada’s youngest musical prodigies. One of them is even Johnny’s age, and it would be great for him to—”

Whatever else John’s mother might’ve said was cut short by the sound of dad slamming his whisky glass against the small table between them.

“I said no.”

Everyone in the car knew that it meant the end of the discussion.

Not wanting to see mom’s reaction, John turned to the window on his side, and watched as Toronto zipped by.

ii.

“What’s this?”

Rodney watched as Gil poked the box on his table, giving it three good taps with his pen before finally picking it up.

“I’m sure the packaging can speak for itself, Agent Marquez.”

There was a moment of silence before Gil beamed, his entire face lighting up in a way that made Rodney’s scowl falter. He wished the man would stop doing that; the whole thing’s embarrassing enough as it was.

“Did you buy me a present, kid?” Gil placed the box down and made an attempt to reach out for what they both knew was a hug. Fortunately, whatever it was he’d seen on Rodney’s face made him rethink his actions. “Well. Thanks, I guess. And here I thought Meredith McKay didn’t do birthdays.”

“I don’t,” Rodney snapped. “And stop calling me that. It’s Rodney. _Rodney_ McKay.”

Gil just snorted. “Not according to Jeannie, it ain’t.”

Rodney knew he was gaping, but he couldn’t help himself. “Pardon?”

“Jeannie. Jean Louise McKay? Your baby sister?”

“My— how the hell do you know my sister?”

“ _Language_.” Gil gave him a pointed look before sitting back on his chair. “And she calls me, remember? At least once a week.”

“Oh my god. Oh my _god_.” Rodney quickly grabbed the nearest seat to stop himself from completely falling over. “Why is my _seven-year-old sister_ calling you? Oh my god. Does she know you’re CIA? Does she know _I_ am?”

Gil must’ve taken pity on him, because he didn’t even yank his chain.

“Relax, kid. All she knows is that I’m looking after you while you’re here, that’s all.”

It took a while, but Rodney finally got his heart to stop racing.

"Oh. Okay. Good." In an effort to regain his footing, Rodney shot Gil what he hoped was a smug smirk. “So. How was the birthday party? Was your ex-wife in attendance?”

It seemed to have been the right thing to say, because Gil almost choked on his spit as the question startled a laugh out of him. Rodney would never admit it even with a gun to his head, but the reaction made him feel inordinately pleased.

“I don’t know about ‘party’, but it sure was something else. Good thing you weren’t there, too, or the whole situation would’ve been blown out of proportion.”

Mildly intrigued, Rodney decided to let the remark slip. “Oh?”

“It was held in my sister’s place, right?”

“The one who married a hedge fund manager. Yes, I recall.”

Gil shot him an irritated look, but otherwise made no comment.

“ _Anyway_. Upscale neighborhood, yeah? Civil people. So imagine my surprise when not even ten minutes after I arrived this punk shows up and crashes the driveway. Backs into _my_ Filomena. She just had a paint job, remember? I was _livid_.”

Suddenly, Rodney could picture it in his head. His 38-year-old handler, halfway drunk, crying over his stupid car.

“And what fate befell this little _punk_ of yours? Please don’t tell me I’m about to erase his entire life and identity off the face of the earth. That’s low even for you, Marquez.”

Gil scoffed. “Nah. It was just some kid. Probably not even much older than you.”

“I am almost _sixteen_.” 

“Not even legal. Yes, I know.” Gil paused, waiting for a rejoinder. Rodney decided to take the higher road and kept his mouth shut. “So yeah. Kid’s father arrived. Exchanged insurance. It was wrapped up pretty quickly, actually. I can even get Filomena this Friday.”

This time, it was Rodney’s turn to scoff. “You’re pathetic. Really. I’m glad I wasn’t there.”

That got another cackle from Gil. “Trust me, kid. So was I.”

iii.

While John knew he was staring, he couldn’t find it in himself to stop. Or care.

From across the tent, his fellow captain and squad member raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Charlie Simmons asked.

“Where’d you learn how to do that?”

Simmons continued to look at John like he’d grown two extra heads. “Are you okay, Sheppard? What are you talking about? Learn what?”

John tried to stand up, but the cast on his right leg made it hard for him to do so. Instead, he settled for waving his hands impatiently.

“You know what. That thing you did. It wasn’t textbook evasive maneuver, and I know you, so it wasn’t instinct either. So. Where’d you pick it up?”

Their entire squadron was being pursued by hostiles for the better part of an hour when John lost control of the situation. About 10 klicks from their base camp, John had found himself toe to toe with one persistent bogey, and it had gotten to a point where he was sure the day was going to be his last.

But instead of blowing up into a million, fiery pieces, Simmons told him to bank left instead of right, and John was able to lose his tail _and_ land in a relatively-safe manner.

“Oh. That.”

“Well? Who taught it to you?”

Simmons shrugged. “This guy I went to school with.”

“Academy?”

“No. University. He wasn’t even military-bound. Physics, I think it was. Doctorate.”

John blinked. “You have a PhD?”

“What? No, man. You know me, remember? I barely got through my BS." There was another confused look on the other man's face, like he thought John must have hit his head pretty hard during the landing. "No. I was there for my undergrad and the guy was there for his PhD, but we were about the same age. He was some kind of genius. I don’t know. He talked a lot.”

“So how does he know so much about dogfighting?”

“Like I said, he was a genius. He knew I was going to be Air Force, and he started telling me all sorts of stuff. I remembered some of them.”

If John allowed himself to look closer, he’d have sworn there was a faint hint of pink on Simmons’s cheeks.

“This guy have a name?” he asked instead, knowing that sometimes, discretion is the better part of valor.

“Why?” Simmons asked, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

John shrugged. “Might look him up next time I get R&R. That move saved my life. I think that warrants a beer or two.”

Before Simmons could answer, the rest of their squad arrived, and John’s question was tabled in favor of friendly ribbing with their team members.

Seven months later, Simmons and four other Americans perished after an IED hit their convoy just outside Kabul.

John never got around to asking for that name.

iv.

“Oh come on, Marty. Cut me some slack here.”

Rodney tried his best to spear the bartender with his most menacing glare. Martin Granger, who had always been immune to everything Rodney had tried to use to intimidate him for the last couple of years, just raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously. Now’s not the time to hold out on me.” His used his bandaged hand to wave at the lone shot glass in front of him. “Come on.”

For a long moment, Marty just stared at Rodney, who would’ve squirmed if he wasn’t already so desperate. After a beat, the old bastard finally took a hint, and went to grab what Rodney hoped was more glasses.

“No,” he snapped, when Marty came back and placed another single shot glass on the counter. “ _More_.”

Marty regarded him with another questioning look, but dutifully placed another.

“You could give me the whole bottle, you know. That way you’d have fewer glasses to wash.”

Once he was able to get started on his tequila downward spiral, Rodney started to feel a little better. His knuckles still hurt, but he wasn’t about to tell Marty that he just tried to sucker punch a concrete wall because was going to be shipped overseas after failing so miserably in front of his juvenile crush. No, thank you.

“What?” he snapped when Marty tried to get his attention.

When he looked up, Rodney saw him holding out what looked like a silver hip flask.

“This for me?” Rodney asked, gingerly taking the container from the other man’s grip. “What _is_ this, anyway?”

Marty just shrugged. “Some guy left it an hour ago.”

This time, it was Rodney’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Some _guy_?”

“Yeah. An airman.” Rodney felt his stomach drop. Was the USAF _ever_ going to leave him alone? “Said to give it to anyone who looked as miserable as he felt.”

He blinked at Marty. “And you think that’s _me_?”

“Do you want it or not?”

Rodney quickly held the flask out of the other man’s reach. “No, no. I want it.”

As he took his first, cautious sip, Rodney realized that maybe he shouldn’t have been so hasty about the whole thing. It felt like an eternity later when he finally stopped spluttering.

“What the hell was _that!_ ”

Marty just gave him a bright grin.

“See?” he told Rodney. “Knew you could use it.”

Despite himself, Rodney started to grin back.

“You know what? I might just miss you, Marty.”

v.

He almost ran smack into Brighton on the way to Colonel Sharp’s office.

“Jesus, Bright. Watch where you’re going.”

“What?” Two hands grabbed John’s shoulders before he could trip and land on his face. “Oh. Hey, Shep.”

It took a while, but when John finally looked up, he regretted it almost instantly.

“What the hell is _that_?”

Marcus Brighton was wearing the brightest, orangest fleece jacket John had ever seen. It made the man’s strawberry blonde hair look even more ridiculous.

“Pretty damn cool, huh?”

John opened and closed his mouth three times before giving up. Fortunately, Brighton looked too pleased with his new jacket to take offense.

“The guy I flew to Section 7 recommended it to me. I have to say, it _is_ very comfy. Who the hell knew?” Brighton continued to grin for a long while. When John tried to break the ice with what he thought was an inconspicuous cough, the other man remembered his presence and scowled. “That flight was supposed to be yours, you know.”

John tried not to flinch. “I know, man. Sorry ‘bout that.”

He’d been doing the milk runs for Section 7 for the past couple of weeks now. He still had no idea what was going on in that little outpost just outside of the base, but John had found his trips to be as interesting as they were baffling. He only missed the last one because he had a hangover from taking a few dares too many with some of the NCOs the night before.

“Did the passenger give you a hard time?”

Brighton shook his head. “Nah. One of ‘em scientists. Had a hell of mouth on him, sure, but pretty cool for an egghead. Knew his cold-weather gear, too.”

This time, John kept his mouth shut.

“Doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, though.” Brighton dusted imaginary dust off his fleece jacket and met John’s gaze. “I’ve got plans today, so you’re up.”

John nodded. “Yeah, I know. I owe you one, remember?”

Brighton looked even more ridiculous as he puffed his chest up. “Good.”

“Is Sharp waiting for me? Do you know who it is this time?”

It was never a bad thing to know beforehand if they were flying brass or a bunch of civilians. 

Brighton shrugged. “Not sure. Heard something about a one-star general, but you’d have to ask the Colonel for details.”

"All right." John gave Brighton's ridiculous jacket one last pat before taking off. "Thanks again, man."

_Did I do that?_


End file.
